The King and I: A Wild Ride with the Maruti Gypsy King

In 2000, the Indian auto industry hadn’t fully opened up yet. A few German and American cars were sold as premium vehicles, but for most of us, it was all about hatchbacks—nothing too exciting. Then, I heard rumors of the Maruti Gypsy being phased out, so I booked one. A few weeks later, they launched the Gypsy King MPFI, upgrading from 80BHP to 100BHP. Without hesitation, I switched my order. It was an absurdly impractical car—no A/C, no power windows, a bumpy ride, a terrible turning radius, and rear seats straight out of a horror movie. There was no boot or compartment to store anything securely. But hey, I was young, and hormones were making decisions.

On Saturday nights, I’d often remove the soft top and take midnight drives from Tirunelveli to Tuticorin for some beach fun. Once, the police pulled us over, suspecting we were camping on the beach—right when the LTTE insurgency was at its peak! Another time, they stopped me for overloading the car with people. But usually, when the soft top was on, the Gypsy resembled a police vehicle from a distance. Cops would salute us—cheap thrills at that age!

The Gypsy had decent power up to 100kmph, but anything beyond that felt like it was gasping for breath. Its competition on the highway was the Honda City, but unlike the low-slung Civic, I didn’t have to slow down for speed breakers or potholes. I’d charge through railway crossings without braking, sending the Gypsy flying. With one catalytic converter removed, the sound was ridiculous—heads turned, and Civic drivers would nervously glance in their rearview mirrors.

Before off-roading became a mainstream sport, I had already crossed streams, slush, and rocky terrains in my Gypsy. For me, off-roading wasn’t just a sport—it was a lifestyle. We’d load up biryani and people and head to the hills for weekend camps. I vividly remember a local boss once hopping into my Gypsy, drunk, with his equally inebriated bodyguards. He tried to “guide” me in the hills, and predictably, we ended up in a ditch. His bodyguards followed, tumbling in after us—quite the wake-up call!

Inspired by shows like Overhaulin' and West Coast Customs, I decided to give my Gypsy a fresh paint job to prevent rust. It went from its stock white to what a friend called "peacock." The artwork was done by a talented guy with a disability—his skills were truly impressive.

When I moved to Chennai, the Gypsy became difficult to handle in city traffic. With no power steering and only an aftermarket A/C unit, U-turns involved mounting the footpath just to get the job done. I eventually switched to sedans and SUVs, but after a while, I returned to the Gypsy. My son loved the paint job, and it became a mini-pickup truck for us. I’d load his cycle or Honda Navi into the back, and off we’d go.

One of my most memorable drives was my last trip from Chennai to Tirunelveli with my Golden Retriever, Gracias. Since the Gypsy was a two-seater, I removed the co-driver’s seat and made space for Gracias’ bed. With the windows down for most of the trip, it was a drive I’ll never forget.

The King still resides at my parents’ house. Sure, it’s showing some age, but every time I get behind the wheel, it feels like driving a go-kart. I’m not sure if today’s Jimny will ever match the fun of the Gypsy, but one thing’s certain—the King still rules.

Long live the King!